


Waiting in the Wings

by folderol



Category: Green Wing
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Humor...or my attempt at humour, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folderol/pseuds/folderol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Day 345 of Living Without Mac when Caroline finally accepts that everything is going to be okay.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>OR...</i></p><p> </p><p>“Changed. I am a changed man. I’m practically a father to Caroline’s daughter.”</p><p>“Mmm,” says Sue. Guy takes that as agreement. “And what is that gettin’ yeh?”</p><p>“Getting me? I’m a father to a fatherless baby!” exclaims Guy indignantly.</p><p>“But it’s not gettin’ yeh into Dr. Trodd’s knickers, is it?”</p><p>“I don’t want that!”</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>“Well, I do want that, but --"</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Guy glares at Sue, but couldn’t deny it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caroline - Day 345

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. I had written it almost exactly a year ago, but abandoned it after struggling with the last chapter. I discovered it yesterday while organizing my Google Drive files and thought maybe someone out there in the universe might be randomly searching for Green Wing fanfiction more than a decade after the show premiered on TV and might appreciate this elaborate piece of Caroline/Guy shipping.
> 
> I apologize in advance for the crude humo(u)r, inconsistent tense agreement, mild homophobia (characteristic of Guy, I'm afraid) and random Americanisms in the story.
> 
> Feel free to get in touch with any thoughts, corrections, critiques, or ideas/encouragement for the last chapter. :)

It is Day 345 of Living Without Mac when Caroline finally accepts that everything is going to be okay.

Day 345 includes a rather drab and ordinary afternoon at the hospital. Caroline had returned from maternity leave several weeks ago and is training a new surgical registrar for the first time. Poppy could have been Caroline a year and a half ago, except unlike Caroline, Poppy is assured, assertive, and decisive.

Caroline introduces herself and they exchange small talk as Caroline escorts Poppy to another wing in order to finish her paperwork.

“How are you?” Poppy asks, in a chirpy manner that reminds Caroline of a certain senior registrar in pediatrics who had left to make it big in Canadian TV but got mauled by a moose instead. It didn’t help that Poppy also has swishy blond hair.

“Oh, I’m fine. How are --?”

“I mean, seriously, how are you?”

Caroline doesn’t stop walking as she shuffles the paperwork in her arms, but pauses for a moment before responding. She places a piece of paper in her mouth as she searches for the form Poppy handed to her less than a minute ago.

“Fffine --”

“No, no, no! Don’t give me the standard, ‘I’m fine’ answer,” says Poppy cheerily. “I just _hate_ it when people give me that! Just tell me the truth, you know? Let’s try again, Caroline. How _are_ you?”

Caroline could grind her teeth with that last sentence. Poppy sounded like a fucking teacher dealing with a kid who couldn’t colour inside the lines. Well, fuck her. Caroline could see that Poppy was going to be a replacement Angela, may her soul rest in peace.

Caroline takes the sheet from her mouth and places the slightly damp paper back into her folder.

“Well, Poppy, I’m glad that you asked,” says Caroline, in the sweetest voice she could muster. “I’m doing so _damn_ well. There was a guy that I liked, that I liked very much, but he was planning to move to Sheffield for another job. Then he decided he liked me very much, but soon after fell into a coma and developed amnesia and forgot exactly how much he liked me. His ex showed up and claimed they had a son together, but that was okay, because it turned out not to be true. Meanwhile, a crazy Scottish staff liaison officer became obsessed with him and tried to murder me a few times. I thought he would propose to me, but didn’t, until my then-fiancè convinced him to. We got married, but he died after a day. Then it turned out I was pregnant, so I gave birth to a child who will never know her own father.

“That about sums up the last year. Anyhow, I just got back from maternity leave recently, so I’m back in the game, a little tired, I must admit, but ready to continue with my life and conclude this tour of the hospital.

“Here we are -- I’ll leave you here with these delightful professionals and I will see you tomorrow for a more extensive orientation, Poppy.”

Caroline hands the stunned Poppy her form, gives her a last smile and turns away. She is grateful that she nearly trips over her feet at the end of the hall, rather than the beginning. She is pretty sure Poppy has stopped staring at her by that point.

 

* * *

 

Caroline is unusually happy about having an outburst. She realises suddenly that it was the first time she had talked about Mac’s death without crying. That was quite a step. Perhaps she is ready to move on.

As she prepares coffee in the staff lounge, she looks at the lockers at the other side of the room. It has been almost a year since Mac himself had used his own locker. The staff has left the locker in peace, as if preserving the possibility that Mac would return to work. His Kinks poster is still there, along with the jeans Caroline occasionally luxuriated in.

They used to give her comfort, but the jeans have lost some of their magic after Caroline had caught Martin sobbing in them. Now she couldn’t help but think that Mac’s old jeans smelled partly of Martin, with his peculiar scent -- he smelled something like hair grease mixed with butter cookies and stale laundry.

Maybe it _is_ time to finally toss out the items in Mac’s memorial locker. Maybe. There are some mementos of Mac’s still floating around in the hospital, including his white coats. No one had washed them in a year.

_Wait_ , thinks Caroline. There is an interesting idea here. She could…. luxuriate in Mac’s old coat. She had wanked in the coats closet before, when she was pregnant and horny and working late. But that had been months ago.

Caroline absentmindedly fingers her own starchy white coat as she pours herself a cup of steaming coffee.

And if anyone catches her, then she could say she is throwing out Mac’s old coats. Because it is her right, as his widow.

Yes. That sounded like a reasonable excuse for sniffing a dead man’s clothing. Then she could burst in tears, making the rest of the conversation too awkward to continue. Who could take the mickey out of a (postpartum) woman in mourning?

Caroline gulps down her coffee -- scorching her tongue in the process (as usual) -- and scurries out of the lounge in anticipation.

When she opens the door to the coats closet, she could tell immediately that someone else had conceived the same idea. Someone else is in there. Wanking.

She saw curly black hair above the forest of white coats and heard deep groans from below. Guttural groans. The sort of moaning she hadn’t heard in a year.

She is too far away to see or feel this, but she could imagine the sweat pouring down the forehead, the clenched eyebrows. Someone is getting inspired by the scent of hospital attire. Coats. Mac’s coats. That’s the corner where Mac’s coats were kept.

Caroline covers her mouth, muttering, “Oh shit!” and runs down the hallway. She had just seen Guy Secretin wanking in Mac’s old coats. _What the bloody hell._

 


	2. Guy - Day 345

It is Day 345 of Living Without Mac when Guy realises what a rut he is in.

Day 345 involves a lot of sneaking around, something Guy knows he is particularly skilled at. Sneaking about, not tripping over ill-placed objects, and therefore getting what he wants: a piece (a glimpse, really) of the action. The day includes an afternoon of watching the hospital It couple (or, punningly put, the couple with IT in it).

Guy is stealthily hidden behind the rooftop garden’s fence, watching IT head Lyndon and Dr. Jake Leaf having a make-out session through a hole in the wood. Lyndon and Jake were the new Joanna Clore-Alan Statham duo at the hospital, now that those two were dead. Like Joanna and Alan, Lyndon and Jake weren’t exactly secretive about their affair, but denied it when asked.

Guy had been keeping track of their movements for weeks. On Wednesdays at lunchtime, he knew that they could be found on Building A’s rooftop and had been industriously attending these pre-agreed sessions with the diligence of a professional spy. On Friday mornings, Lyndon and Jake could be heard rustling in the always-locked single-room toilet next to the Radiology reception area. (Guy made a point to rush into the appropriate air vent just after his 10 o’clock department meeting.) He had just learned from a new, naïve nurse in the pediatrics department that there had been some loud banging in their supplies closet yesterday. That was a situation Guy obligated himself to investigate next week.

Guy isn’t sure why he is so obsessive about watching Lyndon and Jake’s exploits. Their techniques aren’t worth stealing, possibly because they’re both fairly new at being gay. Even Guy could give them some pointers, despite being most definitely not gay. He absentmindedly kept notes on what they could do better. Anyone could be a suave kisser, but neither of this pair could be considered a Champion Snogger. (Caroline missed a lot when she was with Jake, Guy is relieved to conclude.) Their kissing is far too quiet -- not enough lip smacking, not enough licking the top roof of the mouth, not enough oozing passion -- Guy could do this boring snogging in his sleep. Or in a coma.

Coma. Guy is immediately reminded of Mac, Mac in that inconsiderately long coma of his. He remembers -- sort of, anyway -- kissing Mac. It was just an experiment; Guy had tried everything to wake him up. Playing a competitive game (battleships) to awaken his competitive spirit. (Surely he would wake up since he was losing -- Mac would never willingly lose.) Threatening to shoot a kitty with a gun if Mac didn’t wake up. (Mac was a sucker for that kind of thing.) And kissing him. (That was the next level.)

Guy suddenly shakes his head in disgust. What were all these Mac-related thoughts in his head lately? He had gone for nearly a year without thinking so thoroughly about Mac. The bastard was dead. Dead and gone, and yet…

Guy _missed_ him.

Fucking hell. He is here to ogle Lyndon and Jake, not mull over what fucking Mac meant to him. There is some steamy action going on in front him (okay, not so hot, but whatever) and Guy is missing it.

The rooftop door unexpectedly opens, revealing a disheveled Dr. Caroline Todd. She does a double-take upon seeing Lyndon and Jake. “Oh shit!” she exclaims, before turning immediately back to the stairwell. Lyndon and Jake ignore her entrance entirely.

Caroline. Oh, Caroline. Guy had to grin at her, constantly messy and mistake-prone. Even more messy and mistake-prone since she had a baby. She was as adorable as ever, mysteriously alluring even when spilling hot liquids on herself. There was something about her (alarmed, yet good-humoured) laugh when she got into a minor accident.

Unconsciously disturbed by Caroline’s interruption, Lyndon and Jake abruptly break lip contact. They smile hazily at each other.

“Wow,” says Jake, rubbing his right eye.

“Wow,” repeats Lyndon, his smile growing. He reaches out to wipe away some discharge from Jake’s eye.

“How are you doing?” asks Lyndon. “I hope I haven’t broken you down,” he adds teasingly.

_(What amateurs,_ thinks Guy. _)_

Jake is still pawing at his eye, making it increasingly pink. “Careful there,” says Lyndon gently. “I know you’re the doctor here, but it’s making your eye worse.”

No response from Jake. He turns a little bit away from Lyndon, taking his glasses off. Lyndon looks puzzled.

“Lyndon,” says Jake quietly. “I don’t think we should move in together.”

Lyndon blinks. “What?”

“I don’t want to move in with you.”

Lyndon is clearly taken aback. “You don’t?”

Jake sniffs. “I’m… sorry. I just need more time. This relationship is going too quickly for me.”

“Jesus, man! We’ve been going steady for -- what is now, ten months!”

“Listen, Lyndon. I’m sorry, I’m j-just not ready! This is all too weird. Last year at this time I was going out with Caroline Todd, and t-then -- “

Guy bangs his fist on the fence in frustration upon hearing Caroline’s name. _Jake! That bastard shouldn’t have even walked on the same ground as Caroline. Whatever she ever saw in the whiny little --_

The flimsy fence falls over with a crash. Guy’s hiding place is revealed to the two lovers sitting a few meters away. They stare at him.

“Fuck,” says Guy. He stands up to leave, taking with him what remains of his dignity. He considers informing the couple that he could offer them some snogging lessons, but decides the better of it. He searches his mind for a witty comeback. None come to mind. Guy shrugs and begins to walk away.

_Oh!_ He turns back to face the bewildered pair. “Sorry,” he says, mildly, before making a shameful walk of shame back to the rooftop entrance door.

Guy can hear cackling and catcalls from the Human Resources staff, who had pressed their barnoculars and long-range cameras on their windows facing Building A’s rooftop.

“Perverts!” Guy shouts at them as he grabbed the handle of the rooftop door. As the door shuts, Guy thinks: _That was a bit hypocritical, wasn’t it?_

Guy’s consciousness had awakened with a fury in the last year. He would have never, ever had second thoughts like that before Mac died. Emotion wells up in his chest.

He has to head somewhere to have a good cry. Somewhere no one would expect the great Guy Secretin, resident Sex God, to sob his heart out. The nearest private place is the coats closet at the end of the hall.

He rushes towards it. Running, he remembers that this is the hall he had teased Martin in, suggesting to everyone in the vicinity that Martin was going to have a wank in the cupboard.

Goddamn it, he really needed to have a wank. Maybe after months of watching Lyndon and Jake never climaxing had gotten to him. He needed to release that tension.

After unzipping his trousers, he notices that he’s standing next to Mac’s coat. What the fuck. How appropriate. His first real wank in weeks -- weeks! -- is in Mac’s coat.

The coat’s smell immediately reminds Guy of his kiss with Mac, back when Mac was in his coma. Obviously, the kiss didn’t work. Obviously, because Mac didn’t feel anything for him. No raging hormones, no unquenching need to awaken from his stupor and kiss Guy back. Wow, that would be mad. Mac as Sleeping Beauty, Guy as his knight in shining armour. That sounded about right, a good description of their relationship.

The door of the coats closet opens, and Guy -- opening his clenched eyes momentarily -- sees the faint outline of a skinny dark-haired figure. Fucking Martin. The door slams before Guy can throw an insult at him. Fuck Martin. Whatever.

That’s when Guy knew he was a changed man. For the first time, he had missed an opportunity to insult Martin.

 


	3. Caroline - Day 345 continued

Caroline tries not to linger on that brief encounter in the coats closet. Guy wanking in Mac’s old coat. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about… Guy wanking in Mac’s old coat._ It is a delirious image. _Guy going at it. Guy… oh, bollocks._

She is finding it hard to concentrate during surgery. Luckily, Guy isn’t there for the night shift tonight. He had agreed to pick up Cam from daycare. Otherwise Guy would be there, working alongside her… not wanking in her dead husband’s musty coats. _Well, he better not still be there_ , thinks Caroline. _Or I’ll kill that wankpot bastard._

Guy was famously unreliable in nearly all respects, but is surprisingly devoted to her daughter.

She could remember the first time she brought Camille back home. How she had totally failed in changing her child’s first dirty diaper. Mac could do everything right; she could do nothing. She had started sobbing, upset at yet another embarrassing failure that resulted in her hands covered in baby poo, when Guy insisted she sit down and have a cup of tea.

Caroline had blearily watched in surprise as Guy adeptly cleaned up after the baby.

“Pull yourself together, Caro,” he had said in annoyance. “Why are you so bloody shocked that I can do this stuff? It’s all on YouTube, you know.”

Back in the operating theater, Caroline is relieved when the surgery ended and immediately pops into the loo for a well-deserved break. Soon after she locks the stall door, she hears the door to the room creak open. She hears a male voice hoarsely say, “Hullo?”

Caroline curses internally. It wouldn’t the first time she accidentally used the men’s toilet. “Sorry, have I got the wrong loo again?”

“Caroline?”

_Oh god, oh god, it better not be Guy again._  
  
“Um … yes, who is it?”

“It’s Jake! Jake Leaf! The complementary therapist, remember?” His words are slurred and slow.

“Oh … Jake.” Caroline had chatted with Jake briefly in the last week, but it has been an awkward year since Caroline dumped Jake suddenly in favour of Mac.

Jake was nice enough, but shaky and stammering lately. Rumour had it that Jake was having a kinky affair with the eternally popular IT head Lyndon. Caroline herself had stumbled upon them fumbling with each other when she searched for a quiet rooftop for a fag break earlier that day.

“Uh, sorry, Jake, am I in the wrong loo?”

“Huh? Uh… no, I was looking for you,” replies Jake warbly. “D’you… d’you want to have a quick fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I think I’ve misheard. What did you want to have?”

“A FUCK!” shouts Jake. “D’you want to have sex with me? It’s just that… I’m kind of l-lonely… I’ve just got out of a r-relationship… um… yeah -- ”

“No thank you, Jake! Uh, it’s a very... _tempting_ offer, but -- er, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. Could you leave, please?”

She hears Jake mutter something, along with footsteps walking away from her stall. Phew. Now she could relieve herself.

* * *

 

Jesus, today was a sexually frustrating day. All she had wanted in life was a nice man and a sexually-charged, no-speaking affair. Well, and other things too, because she was a feminist. But today was very trying.

She arrives home and checks up on her daughter, fast asleep in her crib. Guy had done his job. Thank goodness.

Caroline drowsily strokes her daughter’s soft tufty hair. It is obvious that Cam had inherited her father’s strawberry blond hair. “Cam looks so much like Mac as a baby,” Mac’s mother had exclaimed (it seemed every member of Mac’s family that Caroline had met had brunette hair.)

“Well, I had a weird day, Cam,” whispers Caroline sleepily. “How was yours? How was your day in daycare? Did you make any friends? How was the applesauce?”

Caroline would have been happy to have a whole one-sided conversation with Cam. The baby often cooed in response, but tonight made a quiet sparring partner. Caroline is surprised, however, when she hears sobbing in response to her question about applesauce. The baby isn’t awake, and she isn’t sobbing about applesauce.

The sobbing is coming from upstairs, from Guy’s room.

Guy is still living in Caroline’s spare room, mainly because Caroline didn’t have the heart or energy to kick him out after Mac’s death. It would take a herculean effort to force Guy to live somewhere else. Caroline had once thrown out everything in his room to the kerb, only to return after work and find everything back in place, even the Noel Coward-style dressing gown hanging on the back of the closet door.

It seemed Guy was immune to every “Arrggh!!!” Caroline could muster.

With Cam here, Caroline had to admit that Guy made convenient childcare. She is a little jealous of the strong bond Cam has with Guy, at times. Last week she had caught Guy playing Battleship with Cam. Caroline had been ready to scold Guy for taking advantage of his opponent (who didn’t know any letters or numbers, much less name any coordinates) but realised that Guy was letting Cam win.

“Look, Cam, you’ll want to move to B-2 and shoot me down! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Guy excitedly. Cam was giggling hysterically as Guy gently raised her hand to tap B-2 on the board.

With these thoughts in mind, Caroline stumbles up the stairs and knocks softly on Guy’s door. The crying ceases instantaneously.

“Guy? You okay in there?”

She opens the door without waiting for a response. Guy is hidden under his duvet. She hears a single sniffle underneath.

Caroline sits patiently on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

She rubs the surface of the thick duvet, and Guy quickly jumps into a sitting position, with the duvet covering his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is flushed from being underneath the blanket.

“Is this about…. today, Guy?” Caroline asks cautiously.

“No,” says Guy firmly, wiping his nose swiftly. “No, no, it’s not about that. Definitely not.”

“Well, then… what is it?”

“It’s… well, if you must know, I… can’t remember a water polo term. Do you know what to call a quick shot taken by a perimeter player following a pass from the hole set?” asks Guy rapidly.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh,” says Guy. There is a pause.

“Well, I’m asking because I was just watching,” says Guy, waving feebly towards his television set. “Can’t come up that one term…”

“Um, okay. Right.”

“Also, the Swiss water polo team just lost. So. That’s I’m crying.” He clutches the duvet closer to his head, and wiggles back to rest on the headboard.

They sit there in silence.

“Also, my father is visiting this weekend,” adds Guy.

“Ohhh, so that’s it,” says Caroline, in the most sympathetic tone she could muster. “That’s why you’ve been crying your heart out. It’s not because the national Swiss team hasn’t managed to break their fifty game losing streak --”

Privately, though, Caroline wonders if it was worth asking about the Closet Incident. Guy could not possibly be spilling so many tears about his father coming to England. Maybe Guy _has_ to talk about missing Mac. That is something she could relate to. Although, wanking in the closet, that is a subject she would rather avoid.

“Fuck off about the Swiss team! Clearly you haven’t met _my_ father,” Guy snorts. “He’s a mean old bastard.”

“Well…. I do remember you saying he and your mother didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Fucking hell, they did _not_. Bunch of arseholes, both of them!”

“Guy!”

“Greenie!” shouts Guy suddenly. “Sorry, I’ve just remembered that polo term, about the perimeter player shot. Comes from the Italian _guerrini_.” He sings his head back to Caroline. “I’m telling the bloody truth!”

Caroline reaches out to pat Guy awkwardly on the shoulder. Comforting people has never been her strong suit. She evaluates the risk of touching Guy further. True, it has been a long time since Guy made an advance towards her, but Guy is a high-level risk. Always. A loose cannon. A grenade about to explode. He could read too much into her patting him in a platonic manner and transform it into a sexual proposition.

“What’s that look on your face?” interrupts Guy inquiringly.

“What? That’s just… that’s just my face.”

“No, that look. What’s wrong? Don’t I smell good? You’re making that scrunchy face again.”

“You smell fine. Er, in a good way.” It was true, Guy smells as he always does, with his rich, spicy aftershave. The papaya flavoured deodorant that he insisted was popular with all the Zurich jetset. He is wearing that too-short silk nightgown that repulsed her. Repulsed her? Was that the right way to put it?

“What’s wrong, Caroline?”

“Erm… it’s been a long day.”

“Oh,” says Guy. “Missing Mac still, then? That twat who’s gone and left us?”

He scoots closer to her, placing an accustomed arm on her shoulders. Caroline starts to tear up. Sure, there was the painful mention of Mac, but Guy being thoughtful also provokes increased levels of crying.

Caroline nods quietly. “There, there, Caro,” says Guy softly. He carefully places his duvet over her shoulders. It’s heavy, like a weight on her shoulders, or a lightweight cave pre-warmed by Guy. She feels a little trapped by the comfort -- tiptoeing back to her own cold bed isn’t a tempting prospect.

Caroline doesn’t know how long she sat there, lulled into relaxation by the warmth of Guy’s quilt. Eventually she curls into a ball onto the inviting bed and dozes off to sleep.

 


	4. Guy - Day 345 continued

Guy remains awake long after Caroline starts snoring.

Lying by her side after their conversation (phew, he had convinced her that he was really crying about his abusive father), Guy reflects on the past year.

He knows that it has been a long year for Caroline, with Mac dying and her having a baby and all. In the beginning, Guy had longed to grab Caroline, snog her until she was ready to faint, and giddily drag her to a bed -- drag her out of her crying spells when her pregnancy hormones were driving her mad. He had to do _something_ , something crazy.

So he started changing diapers. Helping out with the baby. That was crazy. He would have _never_ done something like this a year ago. Guy knew pretending to be a dad was hot, but he had never gone the extra mile to actually look like a good father in front of the ladies. (Sue White told him that parent look didn’t work for him.)

From the time of his toilet confession, Guy longed for nothing more than for Caroline to see him as more than second best to Mac. (Why the _hell_ did he say he only _liked_ her the first time? Why couldn’t he say that l-word that wasn’t lesbian? Was he _not_ clear that he was crazy about her? Why did Caroline so easily set him aside when he insisted she marry Mac?)

But it wasn’t what she needed. Not at all. As she continued to have mini-breakdowns over caring for Cam, Guy could see that whatever understanding they had between them, Caroline was probably more in love with the idea of being wanted, than the idea that Guy loved her. That hurt -- Guy couldn’t stand to be rejected by Caroline one more time.

Anyhow, it seemed wrong, seducing widows. Guy had done that before, during his university days when he had attended random celebrations of life in order to grab some free meals. It had been one of those periods during which his father cut off relations with Guy and Guy’s checking account. Some of them had even been good shags. But this felt extra wrong. Seducing the widow of his (ahem) best friend, if he could call Mac that.

And seducing a woman with a newborn? Guy shudders; it reminds him of Joanna. He has no doubt that Joanna abandoned him in Gstaad because she had a hot date and having a crying infant was a turn-off. That mummy -- no, no, he meant _monster_.

Joanna’s death scared him more than it saddened him. She probably had some kinky dare with Alan Statham. Their naked bodies had washed up together, looking like an octopus of limbs, hands still clasped tightly together. Either she had lost her life because of her love of experimental sex (likely), or she had fallen in love with Statham and they had made a mad suicide pact of some kind (less likely, but possible). Lovers forever in death.

Loving was scary.

Guy slides over Caroline to turn off the lamp, pausing for a second to savour his proximity to her. He slides a loose hair from over her eyelid back into place.

“Mac,” she mumbles sleepily.

“I’m right here,” Guy says soothingly, sliding to her side. Caroline unexpectedly flips over from her back to wrap her arms around Guy.

“There there,” says Guy reassuringly. Oops. He didn’t mean to pretend to be Mac.

Oh well, he had no objections to being hugged by Caroline. Caroline smells nice, with her cheap flowery lotion scent, and she was warm. Plus, the woman looks like she could do with some shut-eye, and Guy is happy enough to let her sleep. Whatever she needed.

 


	5. Caroline - Day 346 and Day 348

_Day 346_

Caroline’s eyes fly open as a stream of sunlight hits her face. She bolts out of bed. Bed. This isn’t her bed. This is Guy’s bed.

The other side of the bed is still warm, and she could hear the shower running in the next room. Guy is singing “We Are the Champions” in a high voice.

Before she can rush off into her own bedroom, Guy raps on the bedroom door and sings, “Morning sunshine! No time for breakfast in bed, but we can have a splendid meal in the car as we dash off to work!”

Caroline groans. She had overslept again.

* * *

 

Caroline sits in the back of the car munching on a croissant baked by Guy that morning, multitasking by spooning mushy peas into Cam’s mouth. Guy is driving.

“Long night?” says Guy, winking at Caroline in his rear view mirror. “You should be glad that good ol’ Guy could cook a lovely breakfast for you as we head off for another exciting day together.”

Caroline’s resting face makes it look like she is glaring at Guy’s incessantly cheerful face. It is morning. She is not a morning person. She sticks the milk bottle into Cam’s mouth without looking down.

“So glad,” continues Guy, not backing down despite the lack of interest on Caroline’s part to sustain a conversation. “That you should agree to come meet my father this weekend as he journeys through Britain.”

“Meet your father?”

“Yeah, mon père, he’d love to meet… you. You’re a charming young woman, Caroline. _Charmante_ indeed --”

“You’re just using me, aren’t you? You can’t bear to see him on your own.”

“Well, of _course_ I’d be happy to see my old man by myself,” says Guy indignantly. “But he’d appreciate a pretty face. I mean, I know I’ve got one, but two would be even better. Please, please, _please_ , Caroline, can you come? Please --”

“All right, all right already!” winces Caroline. It is too early to argue with anyone and it is much too early to hear Guy’s whining. “I’ll come.”

“Aw, yes! Booyah!” Guy begins whistling joyously.

The hospital car park appears in view with indecent haste. As they gather up their coats, Guy begins to speak again.

“Now, the thing about my old man is… he expects that I should settle down.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit worried that he’s never met any of my girlfriends, so I would appreciate --”

“You want me --”

“Yes, I want you, Caroline Todd-MacCartney, to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

Caroline turns away as she picks up Cam from the car.

“Please! I’m sure you know what’s it like, to be a hip and swinging singleton when your parents are worrying about you becoming a spinster --”

“Wow, thanks, Guy! As if I know!” Caroline rolls her eyes. Well, she did know. All those years of her mother nagging her to catch a man while her older sister was popping out kids.

“Well, my old man is very --”

“Your old man! Can I meet him?”

Martin had popped up behind their shoulders, clutching his helmet.

Guy folds his arms. “Go away, Fartin.”

“Aw, seriously, can’t believe you’d treat your own brother that way --”

“Half-brother,” Guy deadpans.

“C’mon! I’d love to meet my family. My sister’s mister. My brother’s mother. Well, I already know her, or knew her, but my brother’s father -- that doesn’t have the same ring --”

“Well, too bad.”

“C’mon, Guy. Or I’ll tell --”

“Shush!” Guy suddenly turns around to grab Martin by the mouth and cover his lips with a vicelike grip. His other hand reaches out the grasp Martin’s curly dark hair, suspending him a few inches above the ground. “You’d better _not_ fucking tell --”

“Tell what?” interjects Caroline. Martin, underneath Guy’s hand, asks the same thing in a muffled tone: “Yffft, eellmiwwat?”

“About the closet, you fool. Need I say more?” hisses Guy. “I know you’re trying to blackmail me!”

Guy releases Martin, dropping him onto the hard asphalt. “Fine,” Guy breaths. “You can come. On Saturday.”

Guy stomps away from them, towards the hospital’s front doors.

Martin gives Caroline a knowing look. “Wow, I didn’t know Guy respected her so much. I was going to say I was going to tell our mum.”

Caroline stares back. The Closet Incident. Guy had thought Martin had walked into him, wanking in the closet. She couldn’t help but be a little offended that her admittedly masculine haircut and her not-so-smooth locks could be mistaken for Martin’s fluffy bush of a hairstyle.

Martin misreads her look. “Yeah, I know Joanna’s dead, but I could talk to her gravestone. It’s almost the same! The gravestone is almost as good as a listener as my mum herself.”

* * *

 

_Day 348_

On Saturday, Caroline’s back-up babysitter (Boyce, who was now going out with a nice but scatterbrained older lady from HR who had six kids) fell through. She isn’t sure what his exact reason was, but upon hearing the grunting in the background, decides not to inquire further.

Guy, Caroline, and Cam drive to Martin’s flat to pick him up. After Martin gets into the car, Guy throws a black handkerchief to each of his two adult passenger. “Here, put these on.”

“Why?” inquires Caroline.

“Because my dad is mad about security. He doesn’t want anyone to know where he’s staying. Just in case someone wants to get after his fortune, or kidnap him and hope that one of his relatives will find the millions to bail him out. Or the willingness, quite honestly. He is one of those gnomes from Zurich, you know. Cheap bastard. He wouldn’t let any of us know exactly which bank account he’s hidden his millions in.”

Martin promptly tucks his handkerchief behind his collar.

“No, Martin, you’re not about to fucking eat,” says Guy. “Put it over your eyes. Like this!”

Guy grabs Martin’s handkerchief from him and ties it around his own head. “See! Why do you need demonstrations to do anything right?”

The car swerves suddenly and a car in the opposite lane honks at them.

“What the bloody hell, Guy!” screams Caroline, as she removes the cloth covering Guy’s eyes. “You’re driving! All right, we’ll put these over our eyes, okay?”

Caroline and Martin put on the handkerchiefs and blind themselves voluntarily.

“Okay,” says Guy. “Let’s practice. ‘Bonjour Papa…’”

Guy pauses.

Caroline can’t see Guy’s expression, so she prompts him: “Go on…”

“Okay. Hi… um… oh, let’s skip the nicies and move on. This is Caroline, my fiancee --”

“Girlfriend! You want me to be just your girlfriend, remember?”

“Well, fiancee sounds good. Even better than girlfriend, I would say.”

“It’s girlfriend,” says Caroline firmly. “I’m your girlfriend, nothing more.”

“Okay. Let’s begin again. This is Caroline, my fiancee --”

“Girlfriend.”

“Shit! Er… bonjour Papa…” Guy trails off again.

“Yes? Go on!”

“This is Caroline, my fiancee --”

“Girlfriend!”

In the back, Martin hurriedly asks, “Can I practice my bit now? I want to look good in front of my new dad.”

“He’s not _your_ dad, Martin,” says Guy flatly. “He’s _my_ dad. I found him first.”

“Well, he might _want_ to be my dad. He might feel sorry for me, for growing up without a dad.”

“No one wants to be your dad, Martin. No manly man would want to feel the sting of shame for siring a tosser like you. Anywho, _this_ is Caroline, my fiancee --”

“ _Girlfriend_!”

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Guy parks the car, then escorts the still-blindfolded Caroline and Martin up two sets of stairs, several long hallways, with Caroline holding on to Cam in a sling. Caroline feels as if she has been kidnapped. Guy stops in front of an unknown doorway and raps on the door. He hastily untangles Caroline and Martin’s handkerchiefs.

They see that the door in front of them had seen better days. It is worn, with deep fingernail scratches and a small hole that Caroline suspects is the result of a bullet.

The door swings open… but there is no one. Caroline is puzzled for a moment, until she hears a voice come from below.

“Ah, bonjour, Guy --” Caroline notes that the speaker had pronounced Guy’s name the French way, Gee. “Eez _wonderful_ to zee you again. Eez been a long year.”

Their host practically jumps up to kiss Guy’s cheek. The man is wearing a dark grey double-breasted suit, with straight blond hair slicked back. Caroline is reminded of the fact that the man is not biologically related to Guy. He must be more than half a foot shorter than Caroline.

“Bonjour Papa,” says Guy, with a tightlipped smile in return.

Guy’s father reaches out to kiss Caroline’s hand.

“Monsieur Raymonde Secretin,” he says in smooth voice. “Who eez zis lovely young lady?”

“This is Caroline, my fiancee --”

“Ex! Fiance.”

“Well, ex-fiancee. But we might get re-engaged,” says Guy. He notices Caroline’s frown. “In the future,” he adds quickly.

Her frown deepens. “Very distantly in the future,” Guy whispers, trailing off.

Guy opens his mouth again to introduce Martin, but Martin jumps in without waiting: “Hi, I’m Martin. I’m Guy’s --”

“ _This_ ,” interjects Guy, “is Martin. He’s -- “

“I’m Guy’s bro--”

“-- Caroline’s brother,” finishes Guy firmly.

“Ah!” Mr. Secretin nods politely. “I can zee ze resemblence.”

Caroline and Guy both frown in response. _Ugh_ , thinks Caroline. _Do I really look like Martin?_

“Very nice to meet you, sir.” Martin eagerly shakes his host’s proffered hand.

Guy’s father inclines his hand. “I am ‘onored to meet you, Marteen, Caroleen. Come in, come in, bienvenue.” He waves them into a shabby hotel room.

The balcony door is also riddled with bullet holes, the wall above the single bed has the dried remnants of a food fight. Caroline and Martin sit down on wobbly chairs opposite the bed, where M. Secretin stations himself.

Mr. Secretin swings his head towards Martin. “Marteen seems like a nice young man --”

Martin smiles back, buoyant by the compliment. “Thank you, sir --”

“Uh, no, Papa. Marteen -- Martin, I mean -- is _not_ my boyfriend,” says Guy firmly. “Caroline is. She’s my girlfriend, I mean.”

Guy’s father raises a pale eyebrow. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes, girlfriend. Fiancée, as a matter of --”

“EX-fiancée!”

“All right, ex-fiancée. But we might be getting re-engaged,” clarifies Guy. “Later on,” he adds, upon seeing Caroline’s grimace.

“ _Vraiment_ ,” responds Mr. Secretin. “Forgive me, I thought I was meeting Guy’s boyfriend and his nanny, or beard, or wotever the Anglais word eez, with a bébé stolen from a local playground… _C’est dommage_. Guy, mon petit chou-chou, could you fetch ze café, s'il vous plaît.”

Without any noticeable grumbling, Guy disappears into the toilet next door, where coffee could be heard bubbling and brewing.

The elder Secretin is reaching into the briefcase beside the bed. “‘ve got the lait ‘ere, for ze café.” He pulled out a slightly crushed carton of milk and placed it on the three-legged wooden table in between Caroline and Martin.

“And who eez zis little bébé?” he says, noticing Cam for the first time.

“Oh, this is Cam,” smiles Caroline. “Short for --”

“Camee --” Guy pokes his head out from the toilet. “It’s _Camee_ , Papa.”

“What? No, it’s --”

“Ah, Camee, a lovely name. Very French, you know,” says Mr. Secretin. “Mais,” he adds quickly. “I am Suisse, and Suisse is not the same zing as _French_.”

“Oh, right. Camee is French for Camille,” says Caroline, with dawning comprehension.

“Goo goo,” says Cam. Mr. Secretin grins at her, then looks in Guy’s direction questioningly.

Caroline notices the unsaid question. “Oh! No, no, she’s not Guy’s, this is my husband’s baby. Or should I say, my dead husband’s baby. I’m widowed, you see.”

“Ah!” Guy’s father nods gravely. “I’m so sorry to ‘ear zat, mon cherie. Eet’s a pity when a baby grows up without a parent. Zat’s why we adopted Guy and Catherine, you see. Children without parents, they are losing an essential part of la vie -- ze love of a papa and a mama.”

Martin’s eyes grow round during Mr. Secretin’s declaration, and he eagerly begins, “That’s what I’m lacking, sir -- ”

“TEA’S READY!” Guy shouts from the toilet. A moment passes, but Guy doesn’t return to the room with tea (or coffee).

Caroline is more interested in another line of inquiry, and ignores Martin’s attempt at steering the conversation. “I’m so sorry to hear about Catherine,” she says sympathetically.

“Oh? You’ve ‘eard about our dear Catherine?”

“Yes. Um, Guy told me about it. About her.” That is a stretch. Caroline had never heard Guy mention Catherine’s name. She remembers him talking about missing his stepsister’s funeral, which was on the same day as Angela’s.

“It’s sad. I’m sad,” she could remember Guy saying. “This one’s closer,” he had explained.

“Oui, I’m so sorry he couldn’t come to ‘er funeral in Gstaad. I’m certain ‘e ‘ad ‘is reasons. ‘e’s a good boy,” says Mr. Secretin quietly. (Caroline could barely hide her astonishment at this declaration.) “Mais... I worry about him. I’m concerned that he’s been avoiding me for a year.” Mr. Secretin spoke so quietly that Caroline strained to hear him.

“Perhaps he’s hurt about Catherine,” Caroline suggests out of the blue.

“Oui, he and Catherine were very close. Very loving,” says Mr. Secretin, sniffling. Caroline offers him the battered tissue box on the table.

“Merci, mon cherie,” splutters Mr. Secretin, taking a tissue.

“How did she die?” blurts Martin.

“Martin!” Caroline exclaims. “It’s all right, you don’t need to answer that,” she says sympathetically to Mr. Secretin, patting his arm.

“Eet’s ‘ard to talk about,” says Mr. Secretin, with tears now pouring down his plump cheeks.

“Yes.”

“Even a year later.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk about it,” says Caroline comfortingly.

“Oui.”

“I lost my husband a year ago and I can barely talk about it,” Caroline laughs nervously.

“Catherine,” says Mr. Secretin abruptly, wiping his tears away. “She tripped.”

Caroline wonders if that was code for something. “Oh, no!” she cries automatically.

“... and suffocated …”

“Oh?” Caroline tries to not to sound too fascinated.

“... because a pile of Guyball toppmeilers fell on top of her. She ‘ad opened ze wrong closet.”

“That’s terrible!”

Martin chips in again. “So does Guy feel guilty about her death or something?”

Guy suddenly walks back in and slams a dented tray with four paper cups of steaming coffee onto the battered table. A cup accidentally (or not so accidentally) falls on Martin’s lap and he screams shrilly.

“May I make it clear that I DO NOT feel guilty about Catherine’s death!” Guy shouts, before rushing back into the toilet.

Caroline quickly puts down Cam onto her chair and swiftly follows Guy to the next room, leaving Mr. Secretin to manage Martin’s panic.

Guy is slumped over in the bathtub, hiding his face as he sobs into his trousers. Caroline kneels down at his side. “Guy, you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. My dad’s trying to make my life as bloody hard as possible,” says Guy, muffled as he is talking directly to his clothes.

“I know…”

“This is not about her death.”

“Yes.”

“Because I had no role in it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No role whatsoever.”

“Mmm.”

They are quiet for a moment, listening to the dripping of the leaky faucet. Caroline touches her hair anxiously and runs her hand down the side of her face.

“The real reason why I didn’t attend Catherine’s funeral was not because I thought I killed her...” Guy looks up for the first time at Caroline, with bleary eyes. “It was because I wanted to spend more time with my fiancee.”

Caroline suddenly becomes aware of how close their faces were. Guy’s eyebrows are quirked expressively and his intense eyes are focused on her face.

“Ex-fiancee, I mean,” Guy corrects himself quietly.

They stare at each other, sizing up each other’s intentions. Caroline is reminded of her first kiss with Mac, all sick-y while he tried to comfort her in her toilet. The tables are turned here. Caroline feels an unusual rush of discrete emotion, reminded of her time with Mac: she wanted to tingle, she wanted to smush her lips onto his, she wanted to feel the way she did all those months ago when she tiptoed around Guy -- wary of his power over her. His eyes are shining with tears, unrepentant, open. Does he want this?

Before Caroline could make a decision ( _kiss Guy, not kiss Guy_ ), Martin’s voice floats through the doorway.

“I’ve been telling Daddy that he may have lost a daughter, but he’s gained a son!”

Caroline turns around in time to watch Martin do a little jig of joy.

 


	6. Guy - Day 350

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter. Sue White is so fun to write.

Guy’s therapist was ill-tempered, unsympathetic, and indifferent to his problems. But she was free of charge and obligated to listen to him.

Sue White arches an eyebrow as Guy walks into the staff liason’s office. He had to admit it, he admires her ability to keep her job despite her outrageous activities. He only had one meltdown (stealing an ambulance after sleeping with Joanna and learning that she was his mother) and he nearly got let go for that.

“Well, well, well,” Sue drawls in her Scottish brogue. “If it isn’t Doctor Secretin. Still pining after that scatterbrained floozy?”

“Well, yes,” Guy says petulantly. His eyes widen. “Wait, she’s not a scatterbrained floozy!”

“Ah, yes, she _is_.”

“No, she’s not!”

“Yes, she is.”

“She’s not!”

“She is.”

“She’s not!”

“She _is_.”

They glare at each other across Sue’s table, which is littered with origami. Apparently Sue is making thousands of flowers (or little cunts, to Guy’s discerning eye) to decorate the Ob/Gyn wing.

“Euuughhh!” Guy makes a frustrated sound in his throat. “What should I do? She doesn’t understand me. We had a moment on Saturday. A _significant_ moment.” He gives Sue a knowing look.

“Hmmm,” replies Sue, placing her glasses on the bridge of her nose to examine her last vaginal masterpiece.

“We almost kissed,” clarifies Guy, continuing despite Sue’s lack of interest.

“ _Almost_ kissed,” says Sue. “There’s quite a distance, Doctor Secretin, between _that_ and actually _snogged_. Y’know, real _lip_ -to- _lip_ contact. Just as there was quite a distance between _you_ \-- “ she waves a careless hand towards Guy’s direction “ -- and Doctor MacCartney. Our mutual friend was quite the gentleman. He was generous, _sexy_ , friends with ever’body. Not to mention that _gorgeous_ lion’s mane of his. Whereas you…”

Sue looks up. This movement looked robotic: only her face swivels upwards, with the rest of her body still.

“Yeh’re a little wankpot who wanks in the coats closet, yeh look like donkey, yeh have an ass-like face, yeh pine for a scatterbrained floozy, yeh’re second-best to Doctor Mac, yeh treat that pathetic brother of yers -- “

“ _Half_ -brother.”

“Half-brother, whatever, yeh treat him like total shit. What a catch yeh are. Really, I wonder what Doctor Trodd is missin’.”

“But… I’ve changed!” Guy insists.

Sue leans back in her chair, entertained. “Changed,” she repeats concisely.

“Changed. I am a changed man. I’m practically a father to Caroline’s daughter.”

“Mmm,” says Sue. Guy takes that as agreement. “And what is that gettin’ yeh?”

“Getting me? I’m a father to a fatherless baby!” exclaims Guy indignantly.

“But it’s not gettin’ yeh into Dr. Trodd’s knickers, is it?”

“I don’t want that!”

“Really.”

“Well, I do want that, but -- “

“Of course.”

Guy glares at her, but couldn’t deny it.

“So. What are yeh goin’ to do about gettin’ the ragamuffin to _love_ yeh?”

“I thought loving her kid would be enough.” Guy twiddles his thumbs. “You know, loving the kid means loving her, right? I do… love Cam. And I think I’m one hell of a father, especially compared to my own father.”

“Really.”

“Everyone thinks he’s such a gentleman,” grumbles Guy. “Since my evil stepmum separated from him after my stepsister’s tragic death by toppmeiler and ran off with his fortune, he’s become such a _homme sympa_.”

“And that’s what yeh don’t want to be. Yer father.”

“No.”

“Because he was an arsehole.”

“Yes.”

“Who is now less of an arsehole.”

“Yes. According to other people, if you must know!”

“Well, then. An arsehole becoming less of arsehole. Well, now. Who does _that_ sound like.”

“Who?”

“You, yeh tinbrain.”

Guy sighs. He grabs a slip of paper, which happened to be a contract sheet for Poppy the new nurse, and tries to fold a cunt himself.

The unlikely pair sit there for several minutes, folding the thin paper.

“Mac wasn’t perfect,” says Guy after a long lull, to defend himself.

“No,” agrees Sue unexpectedly. “There was one attractive feature yeh have that Mac didn’t.”

Guy stares. That was by far the nicest thing Sue had ever said to anyone.

“Really?” Guy couldn’t hide the excitement from his voice. “What is it?”

“Not tellin’ yeh. It’ll just blow yer overinflated head.”

“Excuse me, but I believe my head is, by any rational measurement, reasonably-sized.”

“Big-headed, yeh are.”

“Normal-sized head!”

“Nuh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh,” says Sue, shaking her head vigorously.

“Are you helping me or not? You’re just being a prick. A fucking thorn in my side.”

“Yes, I’m in yeh side,” says Sue tauntingly. “I’m by yeh side. I’m through your side. I’m _up_ yeh side. Just as yeh’re up that floozy’s side. Yeh _fight_ for her.”

Sue bangs on her table, squishing one of her origami pieces. “Yeh made things _obvious_. With Mac, he danced little circles around people.”

“I should make things obvious?”

“Yeh’re about as obvious as a see-through shirt. But yes. The floozy needs that see-through shirt.”

 


	7. Caroline - Day 351 and a Flashback

_Day 351_

Caroline spreads herself out on the staff lounge sofa, reading a medical journal article about postnatal acne. For work purposes, of course. Boyce and Martin are at the counter, goggling at the online dating profile of Boyce’s great-aunt Judith.

Poppy’s chirpy voice interrupts Boyce’s lewd comments about Judith’s saucy photos: “Is that weird Doctor Todd going out with that weird Doctor Secretin?”

“No!” admonishes Martin. “Can’t be!”

Caroline’s eyes strays from the journal. This could be interesting; she is grateful that she couldn’t be seen from the counter.

“I don’t know,” replies Boyce playfully. “They seem all lovey-dovey to me. They keep asking me to babysit their daughter, you know, to have some _alone_ time…”

Caroline can’t help but stick her tongue out at that statement. _Eww_.

“Really?” says Poppy eagerly. “So that’s their daughter I’ve seen them picking up from the staff daycare?”

“That’s Mac’s daughter. Not Guy’s. Mac was a colleague of ours,” grumps Martin.

“Mac? There was _another_ man?” Poppy laughs. “Well, it can’t have been all that long ago ‘cos that child looks very young.”

“There’s always been something going with those two, Caroline and Guy,” agrees Boyce. “Did you see them at the daycare yesterday?”

“Yes!” exclaims Poppy. “That’s what made me think that there’s something going on. I mean, he seemed so sweet, for once, but she treated him like shit. You know, in a way that made me think they _must’ve_ been a married couple.”

“Caroline? She treated someone like shit? That doesn’t sound like her,” worries Martin.

“The manager asked if it was their first kid,” says Boyce.

“And Dr. Secretin was about to open his mouth -- “ continues Poppy, on the same wavelength as Boyce.

“ -- to say no, I presume,“ says Boyce.

“But Dr. Todd laughed and said it was their twelfth child -- “

“ -- just messing around with the manager, I bet -- “

“Dr. Secretin goes along with it, and he makes up the names of the children -- “

“‘Camille, Guy Jr., Caroline Jr., Freesia, Maisie, Odile, little Billy, Madonna, Brian, Tiphane, Catherino, and… who was it.. oh yes, Valery,’” recites Boyce. “‘And they know their Guyball.’”

“The daycare manager said, ‘Oh my, they must be a handful. But large families are lovely. I’m an twelfth child myself. Irish Catholic, you know. Some people say we breed like rabbits.‘”

“Then Guy says, ‘Well, we’re not bunnies ourselves, but we like to get it on… as it were.’”

“Ew!” exclaims Martin.

Poppy ignores Martin and continues: “Then Dr. Todd laughs. She laughs and laughs. Then she stops and says, ‘We’re not a couple, and this is not our eighth baby. My god, that would be _crazy_. That would be _insane_. All those nappies. And to have kids with donkey face here!’”

“She jabbed a finger at Guy and declared, ‘ _That_ would be a joke,’” says Boyce.

“Then the manager goes, ‘Well, you do look like you could be a cute couple.’”

“Caroline started laughing hysterically again. She said --”

Poppy and Boyce repeat Caroline’s damning words: “‘No, not in a _million_ years.’”

“But,” continues Poppy. “Dr. Secretin looked put out by it. He just looked down and said quietly, in a little defeated voice, ‘No.” And he walks away! Just like that!”

“God,” says Boyce. “It was so bizarre to see him like that. He never used to give up like that. Caroline looked like she didn’t notice at all.”

“She seems like such an insensitive woman,” muses Poppy.

“No, she’s not! She’s a sensitive lady. A lady with feelings. She’s always asking me how I am,” says Martin indignantly.

“Oh, Jesus, that woman is _not_ in touch with her feelings at all! You should hear her boring responses when I ask her how is she. She doesn’t realise at all how much Dr. Secretin is in love with her,” says Poppy. “Too bad he’s a bit of a perv.”

“Guy?”

“Yeah, he’s a total perv. I told him I heard some sexytimes going on in the pediatrics supply closet. His eyes grew wide. I think he wants to watch them going at it or something.”

“Pediatrics supply closet, you say?” says Boyce, with interest.

“Ew, don’t tell me you’re going too! It’s _very_ gay.”

“Oh, it’s our IT couple, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem like Guy’s sort of arena. Thought he’d be more into lezzies.”

“Dr. Secretin is absolutely gay if he watches _that_ ,” concludes Poppy primly. Caroline hears her clogs stomping away towards the doorway. Boyce and Martin return to examining Judith’s cheeky photos.

* * *

 

Caroline’s thoughts swirl around in her head that night. She tosses and turns, whilst mulling over Saturday’s events for the thousandth time. Guy’s father had definitely been surprising: he was a thoroughly kind and charming man, and unexpectedly poor, considering the state and status of his hotel room. (“He’s just going through tough economic times!” Guy defended him when they drove back. “The global credit crunch hasn’t made everything crunchy and chewy for all of us!”)

Why was Guy so eager for Caroline to pretend to be his girlfriend?

Why did Guy’s father seem to think Martin was Guy’s boyfriend?

(But he did seem to drop the subject after Martin revealed that he was Guy’s biological half-brother, to Guy’s horror.)

Why, on a different subject, did Guy’s father tell them to say hello to Mac for him as they left his shabby hotel room? How did he know Mac? Did Guy introduce Mac to his father before Mac passed away?

Guy. Mac.

Suddenly the world turned upside down. Could Guy be in love with Mac?

The pieces fit together.

Guy wanking in Mac’s old coat. Guy not dating anyone after Mac’s death. Guy not hooking up with that slutty new girl, Poppy -- or any other naïve female employee, now that Caroline thought about it. Guy allegedly watching a gay couple having sex. Guy’s homoerotic comments over the last year and a half: claiming he knew the size of Mac’s wang because he watched him in the shower, Guy claiming that Mac kissed like a newt -- or so he was told.

Yeah, right. Guy’s father thought he was gay.

Guy crying, a year after Mac’s death.

Caroline squirms at this realization. She couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in her stomach. What did this mean for her? What did this sense of dawning disappointment signify?

She had to admit to herself: she had considered Guy… an option. His beautiful eyes. His goofy grin. The way he looked at her sometimes. How he focused all of his attention on her, at times. He was a dangerous, passionate man.

A man Caroline once seriously considered marrying.

She remembers the early days of their acquaintance, when she brushed her teeth in the mirror and murmured to herself, “Caroline Secretin.” Seizing the possibility of a married name. That name sounded good. French-sounding and sophisticated and stuff.

It is hard to recall the time she preferred the possibility of becoming Caroline Secretin rather than Caroline MacCartney. It was long ago when she debated between choosing Guy or Mac. It had been Mac all the way, for more than a year...

* * *

 

_349 days ago..._

Caroline couldn’t believe it.

Life had worked out, for once.

All of life’s challenges had dissipated: Mac had reawoken from his coma (in which he didn’t realise Caroline had existed), recovered from his unfortunate memory loss (during which he had forgotten his developing feelings for Caroline), had avoided the trap of becoming re-entangled with that bitch Holly (God, that mad bitch), and had _finally_ admitted that he loved her. No ifs, no buts, no awkward interruptions by Guy.

A quiet moment of appreciating the fact that her life was wonderful. 

Well, not quite. As she sat gazing in silent appreciation of Mac’s strawberry blond fringe as he skillfully cut his slice of steak, Guy’s braying voice broke her content focus. 

“Hey! Hey! Caroline! Stop staring at Mac. We know he’s a sick bastard and looks like shit, so spare your eyes the pain. If you’re looking for visual pleasure, there’s always me to look at.”

Guy had just walked into the dining room, placing another bottle of wine with a aplomb. He grinned at her cheekily, waving his other hand to indicate where she should look instead. His trousers. Right.

“Uh, no. Secretan,” said Mac, chewing his steak and placing his hands flat at chin level. “If any woman were to look at that piece of meat that some people are polite enough to describe as ‘your body’ for more than five seconds, the rate of lesbianism would go through the roof.” 

Guy glared at Mac as he popped open the wine bottle and poured the happy couple a fair portion each, before stomping back into the kitchen. A few seconds later, they heard Guy straining to get something out of the oven. They heard him kick it in frustration. Apparently the dessert was going to be huge.

“Well,” says Caroline. “This is nice,” she added pointedly. “Granted, it is in my own home, so it’s nothing special, but it was… thoughtful for Guy to invite us for dinner, even if it is… in my own home. Using my own utensils and groceries. And facilities. I hope my oven will still be intact after Guy uses it.”

It was the day after their wedding. They had managed to get Caroline back on solid ground after floating above them in literal bliss for hours and hours, back to a honeymoon suite where Mac and Caroline made sweet, sweet love. They had skipped breakfast and lunch, so enamored they were in their relationship’s consummation.

With their luck, who knew when the next time they could shag?

They then drove back to Caroline’s house – Caroline’s brother’s house, Mac corrected – where Guy had insisted on cooking them dinner before they drove off to Devon for a brief honeymoon.

“Mmm,” replied Mac, now savoring the wine. “I’m just wondering if that lamebrain Casanova wants something out of all this effort. I mean, Jesus, look at this spread. I didn’t know he could cook anything beyond toasting his hand. Prime-rib steak is a totally separate stratosphere of cooking, something well beyond our donkey-faced friend.” 

Guy had cooked them a seven course meal, complete with prime-rib steak, fish and chips, toast with marmite, and Swiss-style crème brulee (whatever that meant). The selection, Caroline had to admit, was a bit random, but it had been made with considerable skill and thoughtfulness. The chips were fried to an appropriate level of crispiness and the toast was also crispy. (Caroline was hardly a connoisseur of fine food.)

“Are you implying Guy did this to gain something? He did go out of his way for all this, and I don’t see what he has to gain…" 

“Oh, Mrs. Mac, so sweet and naïve. Don’t forget the elephant in the room. I’m dying, you’re healthy, he’s healthy.”

Caroline took a sip of her glass. “So?”

“So,” says Mac, with an edge of exasperation almost hidden by his slight smile. “Guess who will be banging after I kick the bucket?”

Caroline nearly spit out the gulp of wine in her mouth. “Mac! Eugh, that’s a terrible thought!”

“Just saying,” replied Mac. He was trying to sound as casual as possible, but a note of hesitation crept into his voice as he prepared for another sip of wine. Carefree old Mac. _Carefree no more_ , thought Caroline sadly.

“I’m just saying,” continued Mac suddenly. “That maybe there’s another man in the wings for this heroine.”

Caroline scrunched her eyes, trying to follow Mac’s thread. “And…would the man who isn’t in the wings, the man who’s up there floating above them, watching them – what would he say?”

“Weelll…” Mac stretched out that word only as Mac could. “To be honest, that man is gone. Completely out of this world and has no influence whatsoever. The heroine will just have to continue her journey through this life without him, and so will the man in the wings.”

Guy walked back into the room, out of breath, with a tiny tray of the promised crème brulee in his hands. He glanced at both of their faces: Caroline, with her look of furrowed concentration, and Mac, with his attempt at his usual debonair air.

“The man in the wings,” Guy repeated.

“The man in the wings,” repeated Mac, with no inflection.

A pause. “Is that another George Michael song?” asked Guy.

Caroline didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying yes. Neither did Mac. “Is it? Is it? Is it _please_? Can you tell me yes?"

They sit in silence, before Guy turned away, on the way back to the kitchen.

“It’s just a question! You guys are my best friends. I can’t believe you won’t even give me the satisfaction of hearing that I’m RIGHT! Also, Caroline, your oven is the opposite of the Tardis. It’s fucking _tiny_ on the inside.”

Caroline didn’t see his face as he rushed back into the kitchen.

“But seriously,” said Mac, resuming the enigmatic conversation. “The man in the sky thinks the man in the wings is a perfectly good choice for the heroine. Even if the man in the sky won’t admit to it. In so many words.” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Um… why would the man in the sky think that? Considering the man in the wings is a complete…cunt.”

“Yet underneath all that cuntiness is a true… well, I hesitate to say a true heart of gold. More like a tiny speck of gold mixed with a whole lot of cheap aluminum and pure shit. But the man in the sky can see, even from oh-so-far-away, that the man in the wings loves the heroine. Just saying.”

Caroline stared at him. Not in dreamy concentration. Just confused. 

“Hey,” Mac said, reaching out for her hand, gripping it with both of his hands. She smiled back – feeling, what exactly? _Sad? Relieved?_ Caroline suddenly realised tears were forming in her eyes. She tried sticking out her chin, in an effort to reduce true downpour, but she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

Mac might be right. The future was coming. A future with no Mac and Guy as a potential replacement. No, no, no – that would be a complete nightmare, a sad world indeed where fucking _Guy_ could replace Mac.

Caroline pushed that thought of her head. No Mac. No Mac. No Mac. God, she was completely failing at being clear-headed.

“Caroline,” said Mac softly, brushing away the single tear crawling towards her wobbling chin.

Caroline tried to speak in a normal voice, as normal a voice as possible. “Lurrggchts – “

Ugh, she sounded like she’s coughing up a hairball. She tried again.

“L-l-let’s,” she said shakily. “Let’s t-talk about the present. The here and now.”

“Yes,” agreed Mac. “There’s some beautiful crème brulee in front of us right now.”

He smiled at her. Caroline can feel herself melting. That look of his. What she would give to capture that look and replay it for the rest of her life. It wouldn’t be so bad if her life was a broken record, if only the record would only play this one moment over and over again. This was a look she would think about the rest of her life. 

“And I see something else beautiful in front of me.”

Mac slowly raised his right hand to touch her cheek again. Gently he ran his hand over her smooth cheek, moving it to a light but firm grasp at the back of her neck. Caroline almost shivered at his touch. Their lips met. Caroline savoured the moment: she felt cherished, loved as she never had before.

* * *

 

_352 days later…_

Caroline wonders if she could feel the same way again. Could Guy make her feel as loved as Mac had?

It was time to do something stupid to find out.

(Even if Guy did turn out to be gay for Mac.)

(It was worth the risk. Guy was worth the risk.)

 


End file.
